


two roads, converged

by architecture_in_f1ll0ry



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, aaravos has FEELINGS ok!, and viren has emotional breakthroughs, we're manifesting babey, yes they do the longing yes they do the yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:41:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24193000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/architecture_in_f1ll0ry/pseuds/architecture_in_f1ll0ry
Summary: But even now, as they come together so intimately for the very first time, there’s something familiar in the elf’s torrential outpouring of desire, the unbridled passion of one who’s been locked away, abandoned, left to wither within their own loneliness with no hope of reprieve. Viren cannot boast hundreds of years, but the memory of his own acute misery becomes sharper in its sudden absence, a stark photo negative to the illuminated clarity that Aaravos’ presence in his life has brought, however mired in mystery.--Deep in the wilds of Xadia, Viren and Aaravos explore untold new heights in their relationship.
Relationships: Aaravos/Viren (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 37
Kudos: 202





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title is a shout out to r. frost, thanks bud
> 
> this is extremely soft. it's soft and that's it. I won't apologize either

Look, Viren isn't in denial about this.

He isn’t a fool. 

It began happening nearly the instant it could: Aaravos emerged from his cocoon just as dawn began to break one morning, the glinting pinks and reds of the rising sun spilling into the cave, illuminating his freshly corporeal form like some glistening god being born into a bright new world. Claudia remained fast asleep, still recovering from the toll her resurrection spell had wrought, but Viren woke instantly, not quite believing his eyes as the elf stood slowly, examining his body, running his fingers across the skin of his arms, his face, pinching the material of his robes in his fingertips. Then, he looked up.

Viren didn’t know how he was supposed to feel about the way he instantly rose and crossed the cave, the way Aaravos watched him approach with widened eyes, reaching out without warning to grasp Viren’s chin, a tender, albeit alarming echo of the way he’d handled the Sunfire queen moments before killing her. That this thought did not at all dissuade Viren from swaying into his touch, fisting a disbelieving hand into the collar of Aaravos’ robes—well, he can’t speak to the _supposed to_ and _should not_ anymore. There was only the immediacy of their bodies, the undeniable heat that rose between them, even after Claudia stirred, forcing them reluctantly apart. 

It’d been day after day of this, of random, fleeting touches: Viren nudging Aaravos’ arm to quietly point out a creature in the woods, Aaravos ghosting one hand against Viren’s shoulder as he passes, the two of them, walking together, close enough to occasionally bump into each other, though subtle enough to avoid suspicion from Claudia, Viren hopes. There is no denying the odd flip in Viren’s chest whenever Aaravos turns that amber gaze on him, or says his name aloud. When they find themselves alone for a few moments, the way the air suddenly seems heavier, thick with tension. Viren is no longer a stammering youth or a trussed up royal official, bloated with pride—now, he is just a man broken by circumstance, an exile, a vagrant, with a wholly new road to tread. And a wholly unexpected...ally, at his side. 

What that road entails, he can’t guess, and said ally refuses to divulge. When Aaravos does confide in Viren, their voices pitched low beneath the humming nocturnal creatures that inhabit the Xadian wild, it’s of his past: of Elarion, of Ziard, of the long-forgotten elemental properties of the magic that infuses the very air they breathe. And Viren, to his surprise, responds in turn, satisfying Aaravos’ soft, cloying curiosity: his humble beginnings in a province far north of Katolis, the icy winters of his fathers’ neglect; the lone photo he once possessed of his mother, who had fallen mysteriously ill and died the eve of his thirteenth year; the rapid, painful dissolution of his ill-fated marriage. Something keeps his tongue from uttering Harrow’s name, every time, a strained silence descending. Aaravos says nothing about it. For now.

//

They’ve been traversing the deserted places of Xadia for close to two weeks now. Without vengeance lighting their path, there’s a lack of urgency to their pace, and even Claudia, at first so desperate to return home, seems to have embraced their briefly nomadic lifestyle. She fills most of the days with her chatter, cracking jokes and exclaiming over the various creatures they happen upon, quizzes Aaravos on the natural world around them, arcane forms of primal magic. Aaravos is a natural storyteller, and he takes great pleasure in having an attentive audience, in imparting his vast mental repository of history and knowledge. Viren doesn’t miss the small, wistful smile that graces Aaravos’ lips when Claudia makes a connection between a branch of magical theory and an herb she finds that only grows beneath certain moons, an animal whose undiluted saliva is an active agent in a truth-telling potion. It puzzles and alarms him, at first, the genuine satisfaction Aaravos seems to take in watching Claudia’s magical abilities develop, but then, he remembers. This is his calling, the whole catalyst for his downfall all those years ago. Bridging the gap between humanity and magic. The thought niggles at Viren for days, the enduring question of where and when their paths might diverge. And whether they will address the other unspoken bond between them before that point—and to what end? Claudia’s near-constant presence tempers Viren’s longing, which is possibly for the best. The hunger that licks along the edges of his skin, settles heavily in his belly when he watches Aaravos’ chiseled face, slackened in repose late at night—it’s all-consuming, and growing stronger by the day.

She isn't here right now, though. Viren sneaks a glance at Aaravos, and then another. He is reclined in the deep green grass of a knoll they’d stumbled across about an hour ago, as good a place as any to make their camp for the evening. Xadia has offered little in the way of mortal dangers, for which Viren is both suspicious and thankful—though he knows it’s through no machinations of his own; Aaravos, freed from his mysterious prison through Azymondias’ residual life force, has been their navigator. Time bends and dips in strange ways here, and Viren feels distinctly _different_ , ever since Claudia resurrected him: his body is somehow both lighter and more solid, as if death had rid him of a widespread cancer, fused him back together with vitality instead. Ironic, he knows, as he was only able to arise due to the very force that had been his poison before, but he chooses to see it as a gift, and one he doesn’t plan to squander.

And that means finding a way to ensure that his daughter doesn’t further poison herself, either. Prove himself worthy of the title of father.

“You angst very loudly, Viren.”

Viren looks over at the elf, who still has his eyes trained up on the stars that are slowly winking into view. The air is warm and mild, the sun beginning its slow descent past the endless expanse of trees. Aaravos’ hair is a riotous splash of white against the thick grass, long enough for Viren to reach out and comb his fingers through. He doesn’t, though his hand twitches, and he folds it tightly into his lap. “No angst. I’m just thinking.”

“About?”

Viren swallows back a sigh, glances in the direction Claudia had disappeared to not very long ago. Every evening she sets off to continue her eager exploration of the native flora and fauna; it’s a study she both delights and loses herself in, to the point where Viren often has to go looking for her to call her back to their camp. No matter how many times Aaravos assures him that he will be able to sense if she’s in any danger, Viren can’t help but feel a bit overprotective. Now, though—he’s...glad she’s occupied.

“Hmm.” Aaravos finally turns to look at Viren, who realizes he’d failed to answer the question. Their eyes catch and hold, and Viren feels that familiar itch beneath his skin, the rush of fear and _want_ as this thing between them grows. Aaravos sits up just enough to rest his upper body on his elbows, tipping his head in a beckoning gesture, his expression half-wary, half-cajoling. “Come here,” he murmurs, and it’s the uncharacteristic hesitance in his tone that compels Viren to obey, shift over until he’s close enough to touch, though he doesn’t recline, remains sitting up. This puts him in the rather interesting position of looking down at Aaravos, who is looking back up at him, assessing. 

“What is it?” Viren asks finally, as if he doesn’t want to be nearer, all the time, as if he has anything he’d rather do than what he’s doing right now. 

Aaravos surveys him in silence a bit longer, then looks away, inhaling deeply, then exhaling. “Are you afraid?”

“Can you be more specific?” Viren can think of many things he’s afraid of. Soren’s face is the first to float across the surface of his mind, enraged and defiant, stalking away from him. It is _very_ different from the fear he suspects Aaravos is alluding to, the one that quickens his breath even now, heightened by their proximity. As if able to hear his thoughts, Aaravos moves over, so close now that his shoulder nudges Viren’s side, his head knocking lightly against the top of Viren’s shoulder. Viren takes a breath, his eyes falling involuntarily shut. “Of you, you mean,” he hears himself say. Aaravos turns his head, presses his face into Viren’s arm, and nods.

“We are bound, you and I,” he says quietly, his voice slightly muffled. “If you were to take Claudia and steal away tomorrow, I would still feel your presence. Always.” He pauses, bats his head a bit more firmly into Viren’s arm. “And you mine.”

Viren shivers, face warming when he remembers that Aaravos will be able to feel it, feel the effect his words have on him. Maybe he’s always known, even before, when they couldn’t touch. “I know,” he says simply, biting his lip. Blood spells are nothing to trifle with; the pure desperation he felt to tip the scales in his favor had overrun his caution in attaching himself to a creature he did not fully understand. He had no choice but to accept the consequences, and the very worst had occurred. And then, a miracle. And still...Aaravos is here, an unlikely companion, stripped of purpose, himself an exile and outcast in his own land, like Viren. 

“And yet you hesitate.”

“What is it you’re asking of me, Aaravos?”

There’s a pause, and Viren looks over but avoids his gaze, taking in the long legs, one outstretched in the grass, the other cocked up at the knee. And then it creeps further up to those thighs, muscled and firm beneath the fitted black pants the elf wears. Aaravos sighs, pulling away, and Viren clamps a hand on his arm, holding him still, mouth dry all of a sudden.

Aaravos’ jaw clenches, and Viren is struck, suddenly, with the realization that he could wrest himself free of Viren’s grip if he wanted to. “I don’t enjoy games.” 

He must not want to.

“I’m not playing a game,” Viren retorts, summoning the courage to meet his eyes again, but Aaravos is staring off into the distance, brows gently knitted. As the light wanes, the starlight in his cheeks, peppered along his neck and chest grows more prominent, and he’s still staring when Aaravos finally looks back at him, eyes sharp and searching. “Tell me what you want.”

Aaravos’ jaw works for a moment as he watches Viren. “I want a home.”

It’s such an unexpected response that Viren blinks, while distantly noting that he still hasn’t released his grip on Aaravos’ arm. The skin is smooth under his palm, warm and...inviting. He doesn’t slide his hand up in a slow caress, but it’s a close thing. “A _home?”_

“You are not the only one who has lost everything.” Aaravos looks away again, tipping his head back, closing his eyes. Viren leans unthinkingly closer, allured by this open show of vulnerability, the shadows of those long eyelashes against his cheeks, the small, worried frown on his mouth. “I have freedom, and power, and yet all the world is changed. Even _I_ have ch—” His lips curl into a rueful smile, and he opens his eyes, looking down at the grass, plucking at it with the hand that isn’t held captive in Viren’s hold. “I was shut away for a long time,” he finishes, voice low.

“I don’t—” Viren starts, uncertain, feeling unmoored. Aaravos tenses, but keeps his eyes down, and Viren continues. “I have to start over too. I don’t even know what that means, at this point.”

“They will punish you, if you go back,” Aaravos says lightly. 

“Of course they will.”

“Then why go?” Aaravos’ voice hardens, and he shakes his hand free, resettling it on the ground. “I know you wish to.”

Viren opens his mouth, shuts it. “I have to make amends with my son. And Claudia...she deserves a chance to clear her name, to return to her home. I know she wants that.”

Aaravos stays silent, and a bizarre thought occurs to Viren. “Are you…” he begins slowly, a heady courage washing over him, compelling him to turn slightly, shift even closer to catch Aaravos’ chin in his hand, bring his face toward him. What he sees in Aaravos’ expression brings an unwitting smile to his lips, despite the sudden rush of blood in his ears, the dangerous thrum of his heart. “Scared? For _me?”_

Aaravos glares back, but he keeps his face in Viren’s hold, his expression lacking the vitriol Viren would have expected. “Foolish human,” he bites out, baring his teeth. “Why would I go to all the trouble that I did, if I were so willing to watch you die?”

“You were ready to watch me die in Lux Aurea,” Viren argues, taken aback. Aaravos pushes himself up and out of Viren’s grasp, his eyes flashing as he leans in, so close that Viren's eyes nearly cross trying to hold his gaze.

“You are not hearing me. I wasn’t going to let that happen.”

“And on the Storm Spire?” Viren thinks for a split second he might have gone too far when Aaravos’ expression tightens, and a dull throb of guilt settles in his belly. He’s about to open his mouth and say something, anything to snatch back his words, when Aaravos crowds in to place his lips against Viren’s ear, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.

“Damn you, Viren.” Viren’s eyes fall shut and goosebumps erupt across the back of his neck as that _voice_ spills over him, battering down the last of his defenses. “There was _nothing_ I could do or say as you fell,” Aaravos continues harshly, fisting a hand in the front of Viren’s robes, then almost immediately releasing it to trail his hand up to Viren’s neck, resting long fingers against his throat, feeling the fluttering pulse. They sit there, entwined in this strange approximation of an embrace, breaths coming faster in the gathering dark. Aaravos’ hold is light, just a gentle press of fingers, but Viren feels completely immobilized, completely at his mercy, and he is so tired, tired of not giving in.

“I’m here now,” he says quietly, feeling Aaravos’ exhale, tilting his head sideways when lips move in a slow trail beneath his ear, drag up to his temple, just a gentle, open-mouthed press, a reassurance. Viren places a cautious hand against Aaravos’ neck, moving up into his hair, unsuccessful in suppressing a shuddering sigh as those lips slide down to his cheek, a level of halting caution that’s so stark in contrast to the elf’s usual demeanor that it makes Viren more bold by default. He turns, pulse quickening as he meets those fierce yellow eyes, watches them drop down to his lips. And then it’s just a matter of easy surrender, of tipping his head to catch Aaravos’ mouth against his, the kiss slow, searching, and so unexpectedly tender that it dislodges something previously calcified in Viren’s chest, a pooling heat that envelops his entire body. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that Aaravos was not just a dangerously powerful Arch Mage of indeterminate age—but a creature of untold depth, as tightly wound up in loneliness and longing as Viren once pretended not to be. There is always the possibility, a small voice whispers, that this is an elaborate ruse, a means to some other nefarious end, but something about the way Aaravos sighs shakily into his mouth compels Viren to turn more fully, cradling his jaw, deepening the kiss. For better or worse, the line’s been crossed. What was once an acute, unmet need—couched in more immediate desires for power and justice and revenge—is now, suddenly, a reality. A commonality. A relief.

Because it _is_ a relief, isn’t it, to let the thread of this desire finally unspool, to go limp in submission as the kiss intensifies, Aaravos licking hotly into his mouth and pushing against his chest until he’s got Viren pinned to the ground, the solid _weight_ of his body a reassurance. The sun has nearly set; the world is hazy with an orange-violet hue that gives Aaravos’ skin an enchanting glow, and Viren needs to see more of it, now. He swallows, palming the broad chest and shoulders, then slipping his hands beneath the robes, desperate to feel more of the soft skin that was once so agonizingly inaccessible. Aaravos shrugs it off without a second thought, plunging back down to affix his mouth to Viren’s again, a choked moan climbing from his chest. Swift fingers unbutton the front of his robes—all but threadbare at this point—and Viren shoves it off his arms and to the ground, biting his lip against a gasp so hard it draws blood when rough teeth descend on his throat, then his collarbone, followed by a soothing tongue. His fingers clench against Aaravos’ back when he feels a small, breathy chuckle against his neck, then grip even tighter when the body over his bears down, pressing their hips together in an undulating roll too slow to be anything but deliberate. 

_“Fuck,_ wai—” Viren whispers harshly against Aaravos’ lips, cracking his eyes open in a sudden panic. He places a bracing hand on one shoulder, loses his footing a bit when Aaravos ducks back in to bite at his lower lip, suck it into his mouth, lick at the small wound. _“Ngh,_ Claudia might—”

“She’s nowhere near. Relax,” Aaravos rumbles into his ear, planting his knees on either side of Viren in the downy grass. _Grinds._

Viren moans helplessly, arching upward, seeking more contact even as his paranoia is diffused somewhat by Aaravos’ words. “Are you sure?” he bites out, a hot flush of shame and— _something_ else he will examine later sweeping over him at the image the two of them must make, rutting in an open field like teenagers. 

“Yes, I’m sure.” Aaravos takes his lips again in a fierce kiss, one that steals the breath from Viren’s lungs and momentarily shorts out his higher functioning abilities. It’s a burning, wanton heat that flares back to life between them, and Viren is all too happy to succumb to the impulse telling him to thread his fingers tighter through that silken white hair, to close his fist and _pull_ , startling a low, delighted moan from Aaravos as he complies, baring his neck while holding Viren’s gaze, challenging. Fond. Exhilarated. Oh, he _wants—_ just as much as Viren does, maybe more. 

Viren isn’t wasting any more time. It’s his turn to sink his teeth into the soft flesh of Aaravos’ throat, tasting the skin there—something bright and hot and inscrutable, a flavor Viren knows he will never tire of—rolling his hips upwards, against the thick line of heat that bumps and drags against his own. He can’t help but release a shaky moan against Aaravos’ neck as he sucks a patch of skin between his teeth, grinding upwards again, and again. He gasps, squirms when a purposeful hand scrapes lightly down his side, curving around to palm an asscheek with breathtakingly casual surety and _squeezing—_

“It’s very nice,” Aaravos murmurs, pulling back just enough in Viren’s grasp to shoot him a small smirk. Burning with something that hinges between embarrassment and pride, Viren is stunned long enough to lose the upper hand, allowing Aaravos to slither downwards, fingers trailing up his arms, then down to trace faint lines over his chest and ghost over his belly, pulling a strangled laugh from Viren. 

“Don’t—” he begins breathlessly, but loses the rest of his words, all traces of humor forgotten when Aaravos lowers himself to flick his tongue against a nipple. He slaps a forearm over his mouth, but not quick enough: his hoarse cry takes them both by surprise.

Aaravos raises an eyebrow and hums, pleased. “You _like_ that,” he murmurs, before ducking to do it again, then closing his lips over the erect nub, sucking hard. Repeats his attentions on Viren’s other nipple, delighting in the increasingly eager responses, smiling against his chest.

_“Aaravos,_ fuck, _fuck!_ That’s—” Viren is rock hard, straining against the material of his pants, feeling a growing spot of precome dampen the material. He draws a hand shakily down Aaravos’ belly, drags it lower, cupping the heated bulge, squeezing, feeling bold enough to begin unlacing his pants at Aaravos’ pleased grunt. He can’t breathe, can barely think as he closes his hand around the thick cock that does, indeed, bear the same glittering stars that adorn the rest of the elf’s body. 

Viren surges up to swallow Aaravos’ soft moan in another kiss as he gives a slow stroke, possessed with a sudden desperation to see him completely bared, to feel all of that skin against his own, but for now, this will have to do. Aaravos braces his hands on the ground, bracketing Viren’s shoulders as he thrusts, needy, into the tight grip, opening his mouth wide to curl their tongues together. They have to hurry, this is ridiculously irresponsible, and Viren uses this excuse to give into every instinct that he’d kept so tightly contained so long: opening his legs as wide as possible when Aaravos frees his cock from his own trousers, tugging again on a handful of that impossibly soft hair as he arches up, bumping their naked cocks together, huffing a shaky whine into Aaravos’ neck when his clever fingers wrap around them both. It’s impossible to get a firm purchase on his own thoughts, not when his blood is pounding through his veins in the key of _AaravosAaravosAaravos_ , those warm lips against his, panting harshly, quietly, into his mouth; the slow coil of simmering heat that builds with each firm stroke, bringing him rapidly to the edge.

“I want to—” Aaravos groans, his voice low, wrecked, spilling over Viren like honey. In the warm shadows of the gathering dark, he’s like some unholy vision of carnality: chest bared, pants shoved open, hair tousled as his rhythmic jerks against Viren become more pronounced. “I want to take you. Like this,” he breathes, belly tightening as Viren trails his fingers up his chest to pinch a nipple, continuing further upward to brush across his lips as he speaks. “I want to _bury_ myself in you, Viren.” His pupils are nearly black as his gaze bores down, opening his mouth to allow several questing fingers entrance, sucking on them hard as he snaps his hips down, down, lips curling into a pleased smile at the loud moan his words inspire, the answering slickness speeding up the glide of their cocks. He releases Viren’s fingers, turning his head to kiss the tips, his eyes falling shut. “You’ll let me, won’t you?”

As if there was ever a question. Ever, indeed, since that fated moment deep beneath the castle, when Aaravos first spoke into his ear. Viren can only cling harder, digging his fingers into the firm flesh of Aaravos’ back, arching upwards, fucking up into that delicious grip as he imagines it: being spread, held down, split open by that heavy cock. _“Yes,_ yes! _Please—”_

_“Yes,”_ Aaravos echoes tightly, his movements growing frenzied as he bites at Viren’s lip, tangles a rough hand into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. Viren gasps into his mouth as his release suddenly rushes through him, every muscle tensed in glorious surrender as his cock pulses in Aaravos’ palm, emptying against both of their stomachs. Aaravos follows shortly after, Viren watching in stupefied wonder as the stars in his cheeks flare with a sudden brilliance, eyes shut tight as his release joins Viren’s in a slick mess. Their lips meet in another kiss, slower, softer, as their breathing calms, and then Aaravos freezes, pulling away with wide, unfocused eyes.

“What’s—?”

“She’s not far.” He smooths his hand over Viren’s stomach, then his own, eyes flaring momentarily purple as he wicks away the congealing stickiness. 

_“How_ far is _not_ far?” Viren hisses, face burning, as they spring further apart to get dressed, though a bubble of hysterical laughter threatens to spill from his throat. Aaravos’s lips twitch, and he raises his eyebrows at Viren, shouldering on his robes, buttoning quickly.

“Not far. Fix your hair.”

“Dad, you won’t _believe_ what I found!” Claudia’s cheerful voice pipes up from an opening in the trees at the far edge of the meadow, and Viren tosses a mindless thanks to whatever deity might be paying attention for the cover of near-darkness as he rapidly refastens the enclosures on his pants, rising quickly and arranging his expression to read as anything but panicked and post-orgasmic. Aaravos, of course, is back to looking completely unruffled and perfect, not a hair out of place.

“What is it?” he calls back, running his fingers rapidly through his frightfully mussed hair, watching her approach with her arms full of branches of thick yellow leaves, some of them lined in gold. She’s grinning with excitement, several brambles caught in her long braid, and then her smile falters a bit, looking between the two of them curiously.

“Uh, what are you two still doing out here?” she asks, and Viren clenches his jaw, fighting fruitlessly against a bloom of warmth rising from his neck. Thankfully, Aaravos pulls away her attention.

“We were talking. Just watching the sun set,” he answers, hands clasped behind his back as he gives her a pleasant smile. She arches an eyebrow at him for a moment, then shrugs.

“Oookay. Anyway, look!” She brandishes the leaves at them both. “I can’t believe it, I’ve only ever seen these in your dusty old grimoire! The one you never used to let me read!”

“I remember. This _is_ the perfect time of year for these to bloom, come to think of it,” Viren rejoins, having regained his composure, starting to place a hand on her shoulder, then thinking better of it as they head back to the camp. Thankfully, she doesn't notice. He shoots a mocking, accusatory glance over his shoulder at Aaravos— never lies, his _ass_.

He receives a thin-lipped, rueful smirk in return, with the careless shrug of one shoulder. The intent behind the expression is clear: if ever there _was_ a time to fudge the truth, that was it.

Fair enough. Viren’s lips twitch against a grin, and then he realizes Claudia’s chatter has stopped. He looks back at her, just in time to catch her rolling her eyes with a small grimace.

“Honestly? You two are so obvious, it’s painful,” she mutters, moving ahead to continue alone toward the camp. 

Viren watches her stalk away, the tips of his ears burning, and he turns in consternation to find Aaravos' shoulders shaking with quiet laughter.

"That's one less awkward conversation, I suppose." 

"Is it?" Viren grumbles, then jumps in surprise when Aaravos pulls him in close to drop a kiss on his temple, another on his lips. "Wha—what was that for?"

"Do I need a reason?" Aaravos nudges Viren forward with a hand in the small of his back, scratching lightly. "Let's go, before she comes back out here demanding answers."

In a past life, perhaps, this is about the point there Viren would disappear into a self-loathing shell of denial, sequestering himself from vulnerability, from weakness, from the harrowing sensation of being known. It's a habit borne of neglect and betrayal and fear, and one he's more than ready to put aside, here in this strange new world of second chances, of ineffable tricks of fate. So he relaxes, giving in to Aaravos' easy affection, smiling at Claudia's triumphant expression as they enter their humble enclosure for the evening. This life is tenuous, and precious—and Viren is no fool, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had zero plans to return to this fic, and then my viravos brainrot came back in a big and scary way. so.
> 
> this picks up a few weeks after the events of chapter 1.

When Viren wakes, it’s to the sound of Claudia’s gentle snores, sequestered in her corner of the cave. Sunlight is just beginning to peek over the tops of the trees, a soft blend of pinks and oranges that cast long shadows across the cave floor and walls, their home these past long weeks.

These past very long weeks. 

Aaravos is gone, but that’s no surprise. Viren rises and shrugs on his outer robe quietly, then pulls on his boots, glancing at Claudia’s slowly rising and falling form every so often. She hates rising early anyway, and needs a full hour of silent inactivity and a cup of her bitter-tasting brown potion in the morning before she’s functional besides, but still. However paranoid Aaravos thinks he’s being, Viren would still prefer to keep some things private.

He stretches once he’s fully emerged from the cave, taking a deep inhale of the crisp, clean air. Xadia is...beautiful, he has to admit, and being out here in the deep wilderness for so long, so isolated from normal human society—well, he isn’t sure how to feel, being this at peace. It feels a bit like betraying some of his former prejudices, but it’s not the verdant foliage and glowing sunrise that had cast humans out all those centuries ago, was it? 

After completing his own private morning routine, Viren follows the familiar path to a shady grove of trees that opens onto the lip of a small lake, stepping gingerly, so as not to make too much noise. It’s not necessary, of course; Aaravos can always sense his presence, but the morning is so still, broken only occasionally by the call of a far off bird, that he doesn’t wish to dispel the quiet. Sure enough, once he emerges from the path, brushing aside a low-hanging branch, Aaravos is by the water, the picture of relaxed insouciance as he reclines in the long grass, head turned to watch Viren’s approach. 

He doesn’t speak, so Viren doesn’t either, just returns his small smile, heart thrumming wildly as he lowers himself to sit beside Aaravos, struck anew by his ethereal beauty, lit by the steadily rising sun. Aaravos leans over to grasp Viren’s chin, slowly pulling him closer, and Viren follows, gaze dropping down to his lips. His fingers tangle in the front of Aaravos’ robes as their mouths finally meet in a kiss—unhurried, tranquil, but as needy as ever, both of them relearning each other’s taste as if anxious they might have forgotten it since the day before. When Viren has to pull away to take a breath, Aaravos doesn’t let him go far, trailing small kisses across his jaw, his palm cradling the back of Viren’s head, fingers curling into his hair. 

There’s a lightness in his chest, a feeling akin to a pot bubbling over, and he can’t stop a small chuckle from leaving his lips, even as Aaravos angles his head the other way to continue peppering more kisses on his other cheek, lips grazing the beard Viren hasn’t been able to shave in weeks. 

“Morning,” Aaravos murmurs into his skin, his lips curled into a smile as well. “What has you in such a good mood?”

Viren’s face warms as he finally opens his eyes to see Aaravos watching him curiously, so close that he can see the stars flickering faintly in his cheeks, can count his eyelashes, long and as pure white as the hair that’s falling into his face. Viren lifts a hand to brush it back, feeling another overwhelming wave of heat at the way Aaravos’ expression shifts minutely, his eyes softening. He’s waiting for Viren to speak, but Viren doesn’t trust himself with words right now, doesn’t trust himself not to say something completely over the top and embarrassingly sentimental, so he doesn’t say anything at all. Just tangles his hand in Aaravos’ hair again, pulling him into another kiss instead. 

There’s something unspeakably _pure_ in Aaravos’ expressions of ardor; a level of total surrender that Viren envies sometimes, as he is still sometimes plagued by doubt. Doubt that any of this is real, that he could be allowed such a connection with another after the things he’d done, the people he’d hurt, the relationships he’d ruined. And the fear is always there as well, lurking below the surface of his skin, a constant: what may yet happen to him and his children; what is in store for the future of the human race; what secrets Aaravos may still be keeping. 

But these are Viren’s burdens to quietly bear, and his alone. And in the ensuing weeks since he and Aaravos began...whatever it is they were doing now, the magnitude and force of the elf’s affection for Viren has made those burdens easier to bear as well—and sometimes even forget. He’s a creature who cherishes sensuality, above all else, Viren is learning. The sensation of slippery rocks underfoot as cool river water licks up against his ankles. A breeze that’s strong enough to whip his hair up and around his head. (He’d grinned widely at Viren after he’d paused in his foraging to come over and untangle the long strands from his horns.) The tangy sweetness of fresh fruit, the smell of the earth after a rainfall. Viren has never met and befriended an elf before, it’s true, but he can’t imagine that many of them are quite like this: reveling in such seemingly mundane pleasures, ever walking the line between majestic, ancient creature of eternal knowledge, and this mischievous, playful being who hums beneath his breath while Claudia braids his hair and is so quick to laughter, his impish smile breaking over his face like the dawning of a new day.

And, of course, there’s the _other_ kind of sensuality he craves, such as this: clutching Viren closely to him, his large hands traveling slowly down his back, back up to his shoulders, holding him tight. 

And this: slipping his tongue into Viren’s mouth with a quiet moan, eager to taste him again and again and _again_.

And this: dragging the tip of his nose along Viren’s throat, inhaling deeply before biting the soft skin of his neck. His low voice, always urging Viren to tell him how it feels, what he likes, how much he wishes they could do more. The way he will sometimes pull away mid-embrace to just _look_ at Viren, drinking in his expression of open, unguarded want, his red, kiss-swollen lips, dilated pupils, mussed hair. 

And most of all, this: the quiet growls of frustration when they must separate again, his desire hot and thick and hard as iron, pressed insistently against Viren’s. It’s a little bit harder to resist each time, to stop themselves from speeding ahead when met with the risk of discovery.

This morning is no exception: Viren is barely aware of having straddled Aaravos’ lap, arms wound tightly around his neck as their hips press together in a deep, slow grind, Aaravos panting hotly into his mouth—and then they hear her: Claudia is awake and calling for them, and they have to stop, now, just like they always do, lest she stray too close and discover them.

“Damn it,” Viren breathes against Aaravos’ cheek, feeling another heavy pulse of arousal blaze through him as Aaravos’ hands come down to palm his ass, rutting against him harder. _“Ahnn_...Aaravos, we have to stop.”

Aaravos moans, pushing a hand between them, turning his head to catch Viren’s mouth again in a hot kiss. He palms the underside of Viren’s cock, smirking against his lips when Viren unsuccessfully muffles a reedy whine. “I can just...adjust her memory, if need be,” he suggests lightly. “Like she never saw anything at all.”

“That’s not funny,” Viren groans, his head falling back as Aaravos chuckles darkly into his neck. He’s become accustomed to Aaravos’ rather inappropriate sense of humor, rather than taking offense, as he once did. “Don’t—don’t leave a mark.”

Aaravos releases a small, disappointed groan, pulling his teeth away nonetheless. "Why not?”

“Aaravos.”

“Viren.” His lips find Viren’s neck again, a sucking kiss here, a hot lick there. When Claudia calls again, her voice much closer, they finally pull apart, looking at each other with mingled frustration and amusement as they stand and immediately put some distance between each other out of necessity, quickly straightening their clothes. And then Claudia is there, asking about the plans for the day, pulling them firmly out of their private paradise. Before Viren can answer, Aaravos’ head whips around suddenly, his ears twitching. If it weren’t for his alarmed expression, Viren would almost find it cute.

“We’re being tracked,” he says quietly, and then he turns to Viren and Claudia, his words firm. 

“You have to run.”

“Who found us?” Viren demands, fear rising like bile in his throat as he glances at Claudia. Not now, not after he’d just come back… “Can you tell, from here?”

“Not yet,” Aaravos responds quickly, shaking his head, impatient. “But I can assure you, they are not friends. You need to be far from here.” 

“And you?” Viren shoots back. “What are you planning?”

Aaravos glances back in consternation, then turns to Viren, his eyes hard. “I’m planning to keep you and your daughter safe. I can take care of myself. Let me disguise you so you can find cover in the closest village. I will deal with this problem and find you there.”

“Dad—” Claudia begins uncertainly, her voice unsteady as she grips his upper arm. “Maybe we should listen to him.”

Viren exhales quickly through his nose, grinding his jaw, the mounting fear now at war with paranoia. He can feel the seconds sliding away, bringing them ever closer to untold danger, but faced with this unexpected new threat, he can feel the earth shifting beneath him, just when he’d started to find his footing once more. Or maybe it was all a lie, as he’d feared, and Aaravos was orchestrating this entire predicament to finally cast them aside and pursue his own ends.

As if he can sense Viren’s mistrust, Aaravos comes closer, until he’s nearly nose to nose with Viren, staring down at him with an unreadable expression. Viren’s face burns, hyper aware of Claudia’s presence and the way she quickly turns away to give them privacy, but he’s too busy trying to parse the sudden heat in Aaravos’ gaze to say something.

“There isn’t _time_ for this,” Aaravos hisses, grabbing his chin, his voice low, dangerous. “Everything will be for naught if you are killed. Again.”

Viren’s voice shakes with the effort to stay quiet. “I’m supposed to just believe your plan has our best interest at heart?”

“What choice do you have?” Aaravos snaps, eyes blazing. “I told you to allow me to earn your trust. Do you rescind that now?” When Viren doesn’t answer, Aaravos’ eyes flick sideways before finding Viren’s again. “Claudia, come here.”

Viren steps back as she returns to his side, shifting nervously, avoiding Viren’s gaze. “Yes?”

“I will alter your appearances now. Find yourselves accommodations and stay inside. I will join you when I can.”

“And how long will that be?” Viren asks, injecting artificial calm. The way Aaravos looks at him makes something in his chest flutter wildly, the desperate bid of something caged and impatient. 

“I cannot say,” he answers. “But you need to go, now.”

Without another word, he draws a rune in the air, eyes aglow, and pushes it toward them. It feels like a gentle gust of air, but when he turns to Claudia, her image is strange, shimmering between her usual appearance and that of a much older woman, stooped and wearing a long cloak and hood. From Claudia’s shocked expression, Viren is similarly changed, though into what, it doesn’t feel prudent to ask.

“You can still see each other’s true appearance. A stranger cannot,” Aaravos explains quickly, when Claudia opens her mouth. And then, before Viren can breathe a word or turn away, Aaravos curls a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him into a brief, hard kiss. When they separate, his expression is smooth, though a faint line between his eyebrows belies a measure of worry. 

“Stay out of sight,” he orders quietly, his eyes boring into Viren with muted fire, and then he’s gone, slipping gracefully back through the tangle of trees, so quickly it’s as if he’d never been there at all. 

//

The journey is difficult. Pressed on by nagging fear, the lush landscapes and rolling hills of Xadia fall away, leaving only the promise of danger around every bush, lurking behind each tree. Viren wonders when he’d stopped thinking of his surroundings as alien, hostile ground, and feels almost ashamed of it, but the slow, creeping dread is back now. Claudia is unnaturally quiet—out of necessity, Viren knows, but he can’t help but feel a pang of grief for the child she no longer is, the child who would still offer the occasional commentary in a giggling whisper, despite the danger. He would inevitably snap at her and she would fall quiet, only to forget five minutes later.

He glances over at her a few times, marveling at the shadowy, inexplicably visual shift from elderly to young woman—it’s an beautiful bit of spellwork, the kind he’s only ever dreamed of. She looks back with a nervous smile that tries to be reassuring, and he has to blink and turn away, shaken. It’s— _her._ As an old woman. Not just any old woman. It’s Claudia, decades older than Viren is now. He knows it’s just magic, a cruel optical illusion, at best; but the sight is still deeply unsettling. 

If Claudia notices his expression, she doesn’t say anything. Or maybe she’s similarly disturbed by whatever visage Aaravos had given him.

Their progress is slow, the sun high and hot in the sky. They have to stop and rest more often than Viren knows is ideal, but with the bulk of their foraged supplies abandoned back in the cave, they have only the minuscule, threadbare ingredients of the bag Claudia always carries around. It doesn’t contain nearly enough materials to reduce the risk of exposure, and by tacit agreement it is decided that relying on magic will be only a last resort.

It isn’t until nearly nightfall that they spot the distant lights of a far-off village, nestled snug in the valley of a vast mountain. It’s still leagues and leagues away, and Claudia is stumbling every third step, but Viren soon finds edible berries that at least stave off the worst of their hunger until they’re able to find real food. 

The moon is high in the sky, the air grown sharp with cold when they step foot into the quaint sprawl of cottages and squat buildings, plumes of smoke drifting gently from fat chimneys. The town bears no real identity that Viren can see, just a sparsely populated stretch of dirt roads that are home to creatures that prefer to keep to themselves, a place of lowered hoods and muttered exchanges. Which suits their purposes just fine, though Viren prefers to slip unnoticed into larger crowds than emptier ones in such situations. Lacking the latter, and muscles aching with the exertion of half-frantic travel all day, he accepts this as their sojourn for the foreseeable future. 

Until Aaravos comes. If he comes.

He pushes the thought away when Claudia tugs meaningfully on his arm, inclining her head at a building at the end of the street they’ve just turned onto, its multiple windows gleaming pale yellow in the relative darkness. He has no idea what time it is, but it’s well past midnight, and the sooner they’re out of the open, the better. A simple spell, masterfully employed by Claudia, secures them two rooms for an indefinite stay, ushered up the stairs by a happily bewitched innkeeper, and they settle gratefully into the dining room seats, eating their fill of the night’s roast, stuffed with various berries and herbs. A coarse red wine is the only beverage, and Viren can’t help but smile at Claudia’s wide eyes when she takes her first sip, and her disgusted wince afterward.

“It gets better,” he chuckles. “Though this is not the ideal vintage, for your first.”

Claudia gives him a slightly pitying look. “You think this is my first time drinking wine?”

“Well,” Viren flounders for a moment, taken aback, then amused with his own wrong-footedness. “Clearly not.” He’s almost gotten accustomed to the soft flicker of her appearance, has trained himself to see past the disguise to her true face, still unblemished by time and innocent—her abundance of white hair notwithstanding. He tries not to think too hard about that. One problem at a time. “So when was the occasion?”

Their voices are pitched low, despite their solitude in the cozy room, a fire blazing bright in the corner. Outside the small windows, a gentle rain begins to fall. Claudia tilts her head thoughtfully, tapping her finger on her chin. 

“Why do you have to _think_ about it?”

“Because...it was more than once?” Her grin is sheepish, then her eyes narrow in gentle mockery. “Dad, do you honestly think it was hard for me to sneak things from the castle kitchens?”

Viren shakes his head, biting back a grin. She’s so much like he was, it’s a little eerie sometimes. “Fair point, but why are you telling me this?”

Claudia snorts, spreading her hands. “I don’t know, just seems like small potatoes now, I guess?”

Well, she isn’t wrong.

//

Viren wakes with the sun the next morning, mere hours after collapsing into bed after a long, necessary soak in his washroom’s narrow tub. He’s barely aware of stretching one arm, feeling around blindly for the soft give of nearby flesh, before he remembers, groaning quietly to himself as he shifts in the bed, drawing the covers tighter around himself. Aaravos isn’t there. He doesn’t know where he is, or when—if—he’ll ever see him again.

He falls into a fitful sleep again, doing his best to ignore the dull ache in his chest.

//

The next day, it rains.

Viren is grateful, as it means there are very few travelers on the road, though he isn’t confident the inn would have much traffic otherwise. The innkeep appears regularly surprised to see them there, clearly not used to having patrons, and other than making sure they have the linens and toiletries they need, leaves them alone. To Claudia’s delight, he welcomes them to have their pick of books from his substantial library. While Viren is too distracted to read, Claudia immediately pulls down a small pile, all novels, from the looks of it. 

“Nothing else to do, right?” she deadpans, but watches him anyway, waits for his small nod to indicate she can retreat into another world entirely, the way she’s always loved to, since Lissa taught her how to read. And it’s the truth: they’re marooned here, until Aaravos arrives or Viren tires of waiting, but Viren has no real plan, no other allies, and no idea what’s happening in the wider world. It’s maddening, but patience is his only imperative, as well as his biggest weakness. His thoughts stray to Aaravos, ancient and unfathomably powerful, stripped of his former glory and strength when he’d been locked away for centuries. _Hundreds_ of years. It’s a concept Viren can’t fully wrap his mind around, and it’s these kinds of reminders of Aaravos’ _otherness_ that make him feel sick with both shame and pride. Shame in his deep, desperate hunger for him, unlike any he’d felt before, including Harrow, so sweetly human and transparent to Viren, even in his occasional lusty abuses of power. 

No, Aaravos was something else entirely; something ancient and deep and vast and unknowable, yet affectionate and playful as a child. And it’s pride Viren feels—however foolish it undoubtedly is— _pride_ in how quickly Aaravos seems to have accepted Viren as his...what? Friend? Companion? Lover? Every signifier feels too paltry to encompass what they are to each other, though if hard pressed to describe it himself, Viren could not. He knows only the knife edge of his desire as well as the fullness of it, and the low, constant hum of something more tender, more hesitant, that lurks beneath. It’s undeniable, and humbling. 

//

It isn’t until dinner that Claudia says something. “You...miss him, don’t you?”

Viren just looks at her, then looks back down at his plate, quickly sidestepping. “We should discuss our next steps.”

She sighs quietly, then nods. 

“You need to return to Katolis,” Viren says, pensive. “You can...cry, beg their forgiveness, say whatever you need to. They may even imprison you for a time, but...Ezran and Callum, they love you. I don’t think they will punish you for long.”

Claudia grimaces, slowly tipping her head this way and that. “I’m thinking they might not be as welcoming as you expect. We were on opposite sides of the battlefield.”

“Soren will be there,” Viren interjects. “No matter what, he will stand by you, even if it takes some time. Just...give them reason to trust you.”

Claudia searches Viren’s face, eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Because they...shouldn’t? Where will you be, anyway?”

“I can’t return anytime soon. I need you to be my eyes and ears as I...plan my next moves. They will need to keep thinking I am dead.” Viren holds her gaze meaningfully, trying to parse out any resistance in her eyes, any sudden, secret treachery. There is none. She is his daughter. “Let’s...give it a few more days. But if need be, that is the plan.”

They both understand the reason for his hesitation, though he doesn’t say it and she doesn’t bring it up again. Viren waits until they’ve said goodnight, Claudia going off to her room, before he slips outside into the frigid night air. The stars gleam so brightly here, a riotous, glittering tapestry against the inky sky, and Viren regards them with a tired glare, his teeth gritted against the chill. 

_You told me you never lie,_ he thinks spitefully, his eyes sweeping the skies as if searching for a sign, but of course, none ever comes; or none that he can interpret. Human eyes, human consciousness, human weakness. He curses below his breath and returns inside.

//

Viren is asleep, he knows this, but the ground beneath feels alarmingly real; tangible in a way that even his most vivid lucid dreams are not. His fingers curl into the grass and a nearby presence makes him turn, wary, expectant. Of course.

“Truly, you have so little faith?” Aaravos asks, nearly preening as he lowers himself to sit beside Viren, bracing one arm on ground behind him, leaning in to brush his lips against Viren’s ear. They’re back in their usual spot, the grassy edge of the lake, near the cave. The recognition burns through Viren, white-hot at the smug grin in Aaravos’ voice. “Or is it just that you are so bereft without me?” He’s missed that voice, and hates just how much.

Viren growls, shifting away from the warmth of Aaravos’ body, feeling caught. “I don’t enjoy being toyed with.” 

_“Toyed_ with, hmm.” Aaravos brushes gentle fingers below Viren’s chin, and Viren turns his head obediently before he’s aware of it, drinking in the sight of Aaravos’ gentle smirk, the satisfaction brimming in his eyes.

"That's what I said."

“That is not my intent,” Aaravos replies simply, with some humor, and then pauses, tilting his head. “Well. Not entirely.” His presence is calming, which is violently at odds with Viren’s wrong-footedness within this...conscious dream, or whatever it is. Aaravos watches Viren closely, sliding gentle fingers through his hair, curling around his ear, before his expression becomes more serious.

“I’m delayed because I’m tracking your would-be killers.”

Viren lifts his chin, brows narrowed. “You didn’t—”

“They’re more useful alive, talking, unsuspicious,” Aaravos shrugs. “I destroyed every trace of our sojourn and kept myself hidden. It was a small retinue of Skywing Elves,” he explains. “Sent to hunt you down, for crimes against The Dragon Queen and her spawn. The orders were strict to capture you alive.”

“Small mercies,” Viren mutters, rolling his eyes. He looks back up at the twinkling heavens, aware of Aaravos’ eyes still on him. “So? What else have you learned?”

“Their numbers aren’t as plentiful as they would like. The Queen is angry, but many elves are...undecided. In this new era of alleged peace. Ironically, it would seem, their prejudice against humans is helping your cause.” He mirrors Viren’s position, lying back in the grass, legs crossed at the ankle. “In many places, factions have risen up to protest the Queen’s new...fondness for certain humans. We will benefit from this discord. But it will take...time. And delicacy.”

“And elegant efficiency?” Viren quips, before he can help it, pleased at Aaravos’ warm chuckle. 

“And that.”

“I’m sending Claudia back to Katolis,” Viren tells him, looking over. Aaravos in profile is a work of art. “To be my eyes and ears.”

Aaravos makes an approving noise, nodding. “Very good. And I will need a favor from her, as well.”

Viren frowns. “What kind of favor?”

Aaravos pauses, his eyes scanning the skies, as if reading the faded, creased pages of a book. “There is something I need badly, that I lost long ago. I have reason to believe your King had it.” When his head turns, his eyes are knowing. “Your Harrow.”

Viren’s throat tightens, and he forces himself not to look away. He was never mine, he doesn’t say. “What is it?”

“A key.”

“A _key?”_

“Yes. I need her to find it for me, and when I have it, the tides will turn significantly in our favor. If you will still have me, of course,” he finishes with a smile, turning over onto his side, bringing him closer to Viren, nearly touching. Then he reaches out to do just that, brushing a hand down the center of his chest, lifting an eyebrow with Viren grabs his wrist.

“I will not send her on a fruitless suicide mission.”

“Are you implying _I_ would?” Aaravos snaps, eyes flashing. “You truly think I would seek to harm your daughter?”

He seems... _offended_ , if Viren didn’t know better. Irritated, impatient with Viren’s mistrust. “We will discuss it...later. When you’re—” Viren waves a hand vaguely in his direction, hearing the bitterness in his voice and unable to do much about it. “Actually here.”

Aaravos exhales slowly, shaking his wrist free of Viren’s grip, coming in closer as he draws his hand up Viren’s chest, up and up, until his long fingers are gently cradling Viren’s throat. Aaravos tracks his gaze, tightening his hold ever so slightly, then leans down to whisper in his ear.

“I can hear your heart racing.” The impossibly low, rich timber of his voice is like a drug, muddying Viren’s senses, stoking a scorching heat in his gut. “Your blood rushing to the surface of your skin, the way your eyes dilate…” his fingers tighten even more, just this side of uncomfortable, and he chuckles when Viren gives a shuddering gasp. “It’s not that you don’t trust me. It’s that it _scares_ you how much you do.” 

Viren is pinned, immobile, drowning in Aaravos’ knowing gaze, hands clutched in his silky robes, feeling like a live wire. Viren thinks he moans his name; he must, because Aaravos finally lowers himself with a pleased sound to seal their mouths together, but the kiss is somehow not enough, Viren can’t _feel_ him enough, the stars suddenly wheeling in a dizzying pattern overhead, dancing across the back of his eyelids and yanking him firmly out of time—

And then he wakes, rock hard and aching, shivering and sweating within his sheets. 

//

The following evening, a lighter-than-usual conversation over dinner turns into an unexpected stroll down memory lane, Claudia completely enraptured as Viren recounts her first brushes with magic as a toddler, the way her eyes had glowed; all the times he had stolen rare ingredients from shifty strangers as a teenager; his first bewildered nights living in a royal castle, a far cry from the humble farm he’d grown up on. 

“I can’t imagine you milking a cow,” Claudia laughs, and Viren shakes his head.

“Thankfully, it hasn’t happened in many, many years. And it—” and then he pauses, his head turning, a sudden awareness prickling beneath the surface of his skin. 

“Dad?”

Viren can hear him now, exchanging quiet words with the innkeep in the next room—but it’s not a loud conversation by any means, and the door is firmly shut, wind whistling just outside. Viren isn’t sure what to make of these abruptly heightened senses, but that confusion takes a backseat to the sudden violent hammering in his chest. Before he can think of something to say to her, the door opens.

“Oh,” Viren hears Claudia breathe quietly. “Makes sense.”

Aaravos steps through the doorway, his eyes taking them both in with evident pleasure, then the entire room, its modest size and slightly shabby furnishing, before his gaze settles fully on Viren. “I’m here,” he says simply, in a tone so guileless and self-satisfied that Viren is tempted to laugh. He feels instantly lighter with Aaravos around, a truth so apparent now, and there’s no use in trying to pretend otherwise any longer. 

“We’re glad to see you!” Claudia exclaims, surging forward to wrap her arms around his neck in a hug, rising to her tiptoes but still comically shorter than him. Aaravos’ expression is genuinely startled as he bends down to return the embrace, though his small smile is something close to triumphant when he looks at Viren over her shoulder. And it morphs into glee at her next words. “Dad was so mopey with you gone.” She pulls away to look back at Viren with a mischievous grin. 

Viren sighs, willing away his immediate blush. Humiliating. “Claudia…”

“That is _valuable_ information, thank you,” Aaravos says to her, his eyes flicking to Viren’s with a wink before he looks back at her. The casualness of it, so strangely...human, and familiar, it settles warmly in Viren's chest, despite his embarrassment. “Do you mind if I talk to your father alone?”

“Say no more,” she smirks, inclining her head politely before turning to climb the stairs, humming merrily beneath her breath she goes. Once she’s out of sight, Viren turns back around, bracing himself for—something, he’s not sure what—and barely has time to open his mouth before Aaravos is completely in his space, hands clutching at either side of Viren’s jaw, pulling him in for a kiss so filthy and torrid Viren nearly forgets where he is. When he manages to pull away, short of breath, overwhelmed, Aaravos growls softly, leaning in again and tilting his head so that his lips brush Viren’s ear, his words low and urgent.

“Take me to our room.”

//

The door slams shut a little too loudly, perhaps, but Viren can’t find it in him to care when Aaravos is back on him the instant it does—his touch as hungry and frenzied as Viren feels. Yanking the laces of Viren’s shirt open, tugging it out from where it’s tucked into his pants, biting at his neck, trailing kisses down to his exposed collarbone. Viren tilts his head to give him more room, letting himself be pushed further into the room, until the back of his knees hit the bed and Aaravos shoves him onto it, staring down at him with such open, naked want that Viren _burns._

For all of his earlier haste, Aaravos’ eyes travel the length of his body slowly, as if drinking him in, and Viren has to resist the urge to cover himself, somehow, as if he can hide the lust he knows is mirrored in his expression, the persistent bulge tented between his legs.

“Do you need an engraved invitation?” he grouses, partially out of impatience, but mostly because he knows it will make Aaravos laugh. He isn’t disappointed. Aaravos’ deep chuckle lights through him as he lowers himself over Viren, long hair tickling Viren’s ears as he moves in to capture his lips in another fierce, open-mouthed kiss, and then another, and another. Viren gratefully allows his mind to switch off as he just follows base instinct: gripping Aaravos’ slim, firm waist tighter, urging him _down,_ until they’re pressed flush together, a soft moan escaping as Aaravos’ cock brushes his own—opening his thighs so that they can do that again, this time deliberately, needing more. Viren bites on Aaravos’ bottom lip as he brings his hands up to shove at his silken robes, pleased when Aaravos just lets him, bracing one hand and then the other against the mattress as he hurriedly strips it off. Viren helps him peel it off and shove it to the floor, his hands instantly returning to Aaravos’ shoulders, running over the bared, starry skin of his forearms, down to his wrists, then back up to the broad, muscled planes of his back. Aaravos moans softly, continuously, into Viren’s mouth at the unhurried touch, grinding their cocks together.

“Mmmm, these,” Aaravos murmurs, planting his knees on either side of Viren’s hips to rise up, plucking impatiently at Viren’s pants. “Off, can I?”

Viren nods, somewhat out of breath but unable to hold back a smile at Aaravos’ sudden notable lack of coherency—and then exhaling in slight shock when Aaravos’ next mumbled words cause the remainder of their clothing to vanish from their bodies entirely. He’s too caught up in staring at Aaravos to be self-conscious of Aaravos doing the same, wishing he would sit up so Viren can take in the full, unclothed glory of his deep indigo skin, flecked with stars—but Aaravos’ heady, drugging kisses are too addictive, pulling him back under, all the more intoxicating now with nothing to separate them, just the unceasing spark-fount of skin dragging against naked skin.

When Aaravos finally pulls away, Viren gazes up at him, dazed and wanting, his lips swollen and kiss-bitten. The diamond-shaped starlight in Aaravos’ cheeks is glowing bright, and Viren can’t help but run a hand through his long hair, marveling at the way Aaravos sighs and pushes into his touch, relishing it. And then he’s lowering himself again to brush gentle kisses down Viren’s neck, sweeping across his collarbone, making a path with his lips and tongue and occasionally teeth, seemingly determined not to let any part of Viren go untouched. Viren is certain that Aaravos is thinking along the same lines he is: finally, there will be no interruptions, no reason to stop.

“Ah,” Viren gasps, cock jerking against his stomach as Aaravos licks a nipple, slowly at first, then with rapid flicks of his stiffened tongue. He glances up curiously as Viren writhes beneath him, and Viren only manages to meet his eyes for a moment as he grips harder at his shoulders, head falling back with an explosive moan. “Fuck. I—“

Aaravos switches to his other nipple, sucking it, biting it, and then laughing softly as Viren squeezes his shoulders in warning. He releases the erect nub with an audible pop that makes Viren’s ears burn, then waits until Viren lifts his head again—puzzled at Aaravos’ sudden stillness—before making a broad, slow lick, lips drawn up in a playful grin. Viren hisses as his hips punch upwards, leveling a weak glare at Aaravos.

“You’re evil.”

_“Me?”_ Aaravos murmurs, pleased, giving his nipple one final lick before continuing to move downward, speaking through the hailstorm of small kisses he sweeps along Viren’s stomach. “You can’t mean that.”

“Fuck,” Viren bites out, both charmed and dizzied by the easy outpouring of Aaravos’ affection, pulse spiking as Aaravos deliberately avoids his leaking cock, biting into the planes of his hip, tongue swirling into his skin. “Fuck!” 

“Yes, Viren,” Aaravos says, pulling away to survey the mark his teeth had left with evident satisfaction, his voice lazily indulgent. As if he is right where he wants to be, doing exactly what he wants to be doing. “In time.”

“Hurry up,” Viren growls, instead of “fuck off,” which he’d meant to. Aaravos raises an eyebrow at him, and Viren’s had enough, he wants to see Aaravos lose his composure again. His eyes shift between Aaravos’ for a moment, and then he moves quickly, dragging Aaravos up and flipping them over. Except he gets as far as Aaravos resettling back over him, his face open with surprise, before he catches on and smirks, locking every muscle so that Viren is left struggling to move: his hands clasped around Viren’s wrists, trapping his arms to the bed, his body pressed heavily against Viren’s, rutting his cock slowly, agonizingly slowly, against Viren’s weeping erection as he captures his lips in another head-spinning kiss.

“Hungry?” He asks, not raising his mouth from Viren’s, moaning when Viren opens his legs wider, bringing one hand down from where it’s pressing bruises into Viren’s forearm. Down between Viren’s legs, finally, where he trails a gentle line down the stiff length of his cock, swirling a fingertip around the messy head. Viren captures Aaravos' lower lip between his teeth but still can’t bite back his high keen, feeling another blurt of precum against his stomach. Aaravos notices too, if his delighted hum is any indication, and Viren forgets his shame when the large hand cups his balls, rolling them in his palm, then drifting away and further down to brush careful fingertips against Viren's hole.

Viren’s hips strain upward, his body aflame. _“Please.”_

“Yes,” Aaravos breathes, and Viren feels a small, telltale rush of magic before a long, slick finger pushes inside, slowly exploring, before a second joins, probably too soon, but Viren doesn't care about the slightly uncomfortable stretch, needing more. Aaravos stares down at him as he fucks his fingers in and out of Viren, tracking every micro-expression with an obvious hunger, his eyes half-lidded, mouth slightly open in fascination. Viren is about to object when suddenly there are three fingers, and all he can do instead is arch upwards, relishing the burn, letting it stoke the thickly simmering fire within him into an inferno. 

“Do it,” he pants, abandoning pride entirely, too far gone to worry about how he looks right now, chest heaving with want, dragging one hand down the soft curve of Aaravos’ jaw while the other curls around his stiff cock. Aaravos’ movements stutter as he draws in a quick breath, pushing greedily into Viren’s touch. “I want you to.”

_“Yes,”_ Aaravos repeats in a plaintive moan, apparently also nearly at the end of his tether as he hurriedly hooks a palm beneath Viren’s knee to bring one leg up as he positions himself, then pushes in with no stopping, every impossibly hard inch of him, until his hips are pressed flush into Viren’s. “Viren, you—” he begins brokenly, not giving Viren a chance to breathe before almost completely withdrawing only to push back in again, not bottoming out this time. “You feel exquisite.” The measured, shallow thrusts continue, and Viren cries out in mingled frustration and pleasure, needing more.

_“Dammit,_ Aaravos, just…” Viren gasps when Aaravos grins, finally taking mercy and burying himself entirely, igniting the place deep inside of him that sends lightning cracking through his veins. His pace remains languid, just holding Viren open as he rocks into him again and again, the only sounds in the room the rhythmic smack of their hips, the small, choked moans and gasps as the bed creaks beneath them. Viren has to grasp the headboard with one hand and hold Aaravos close with the other, fingers curling into warm skin as he basks in the steady, blazing fullness within him, feeling as incandescent as the stars littering Aaravos’ skin, floating, adrift in pleasure. When Aaravos nearly bends him in half to meet his mouth in a desperate kiss, Viren opens up to him needily, unable to shut his eyes, unable to look away for one second from the way Aaravos closes his, revealing miniature stars glittering against his eyelids, the way his brows tilt upwards in needy supplication, his tongue hot and heavy against Viren’s, tasting of wind and starlight. 

It’s a maelstrom of sensation that Viren can’t hope to contain or control; the same as it’s ever been with Aaravos, at his very essence an unknowable creature with unknowable aims. But even now, as they come together so intimately for the very first time, there’s something familiar in the elf’s torrential outpouring of desire, the unbridled passion of one who’s been locked away, abandoned, left to wither within their own loneliness with no hope of reprieve. Viren cannot boast hundreds of years, but the memory of his own acute misery becomes sharper in its sudden absence, a stark photo negative to the illuminated clarity that Aaravos’ presence in his life has brought, however mired in mystery. It’s like the sudden brilliance of a supernova, blazing across the night sky, its imprint forever burned into memory. Even if tragedy befalls them and Viren is left alone again, he will never forget this. Never forget Aaravos.

Aaravos grunts against his mouth as he fucks into Viren harder, more frenzied now, breaking the kiss to bring his lips to Viren’s ear, capturing the lobe between his teeth, softly at first, then harder. His voice, as always, spills over Viren like honey, smooth and thick. “You are mine, Viren. Aren’t you?”

His tone leaves no room for argument, and for once, Viren feels no desire to argue anyway. _“Yes,”_ he admits in a low hiss.

“Yes?” Aaravos’ gaze suddenly bores into him with a curious fire, his arousal, the flush of his skin evident in the way his stars flicker brighter and faster, and Viren is transfixed. There’s another question lurking beneath the seemingly simple statement of possession, a question Viren knows he should balk at, but instead he feels only the compulsion to say yes, yes, yes. He’s never stopped saying yes, ever since that fated day deep beneath the castle when he willingly shed his blood to begin unraveling this mystery, merging their destinies forever; he cannot conceive of a life without this strange companion now, the one who has only ever given Viren that which he wanted and scarcely expected to achieve: a refuge, a confidant, a glimpse of real power, a shared thirst for more. 

“Yes, Aaravos, I am yours.” He finds a remnant of his wits, somewhere, within the overlapping riptides of pleasure, grasping Aaravos’ jaw firmly, meeting his gaze with equal passion. “As you are mine.”

Aaravos moans, looking completely wrecked, fisting a rough hand into Viren’s hair as he holds him in place, thundering into him so hard that Viren has to muffle his loud cry into his mouth, his cock a steadily leaking mess against his stomach. 

_“Please,”_ he begs, clutching Aaravos close, meeting him thrust for thrust, half out of his mind with ecstasy. Aaravos insinuates a hand between them, closing his fingers around Viren’s cock, jerking him messily, plunging his tongue into Viren’s mouth, as if suddenly determined to see him fly over the edge.

The world narrows down to a screaming pinprick of white before exploding in a torrent unrelenting pleasure, and Viren loses all sense of time and space for a few moments, clinging to Aaravos’ quaking form lest he be flung into the vastness of space, like so much stardust. He’s dimly aware of Aaravos’ lips at his ear, the warm fullness of him deep within, emptying into Viren with strained, quiet moans. His skin prickles with gooseflesh as a strange, cool wind seems to sweep over and through him, a live current of something deep and ancient and transformative singing through every bone and sinew. He gasps, overcome with the warring sensations, every muscle strained in mingled pleasure and confusion, Aaravos’ urgently spoken words in his ear utterly incomprehensible.

“What—” Viren begins, shivering, not sure if he wants to sob or come again or both, “what—is—this—”

“You’re truly mine now,” Aaravos says simply, kissing his temple, kissing his ear, kissing his lips, his movements slow and self-assured, blissfully post-orgasmic. “We’ve finally completed the ritual. There is so much..." He palms Viren’s cheek, licking at the seam of his lips. “So much to teach you." Another kiss. "To show you…”

“Aaravos,” Viren moans, trying to open his eyes, trying to push past the strange heaviness in his limbs, but it feels impossible, easier to let himself drift down and down and down, plunging into one swirling, indifferent constellation and then the next, piercing the starred veil of the cosmos, ripping a hole through time itself—he’s back in the dream, Aaravos warm at his side within an endless sea of green grass, back on the Storm Spire, his every movement linked to Aaravos', then the cruel lance of separation as he plunges down, down—

When he comes back to himself, he’s lying on his side, encircled in Aaravos’ arms, feeling strangely light. New. When he looks down at himself, there’s the slightest glow to his skin. 

“The _hell_ was that,” he demands, his voice a harsh whisper. Aaravos chuckles into his ear, a warm, pleased sound.

“Needlessly dramatic,” he teases, kissing the back of Viren’s neck. “If you wanted to cuddle, all you had to do was ask.”

“Aaravos, what did you do to me?”

“I told you. That was the final step in solidifying our bond. Optional, of course,” Aaravos quips, now biting his neck, soothing it with a small lick, tightening his hold around Viren as he drops his voice to a low caress. “Eventually, you will unlock the secrets of the star arcanum for yourself. Until then, you are an open conduit for my power. Feel.” He grows silent, and Viren narrows his eyes, suspicious, before he feels it: a tingling warmth everywhere they are touching, and that cool wind from before, bringing with it a heady, imposing presence, a force, that Viren knows in his soul is just Aaravos, his essence, his purest form, intermingled with Viren’s consciousness as if it's always been there, braided tightly into his DNA. It’s fathomless, a roiling ocean of celestial power, and Viren’s to tap into at will. And then it’s gone, leaving Viren shuddering, turning over to grasp a grinning Aaravos and pull him close, aching for him again.

//

Viren’s never felt this fucked out and boneless, positively drunk as he lies slumped onto his front, eyes closed as Aaravos’ fingers comb slowly through his hair again and again. And then his eyes open, blinking slowly, as he contemplates the sounds they’ve just made— _been_ making all night; shameful, considering the thinness of the walls. 

“I can never look my daughter in the eye again,” he mumbles, too tired to fully display the depth of his horror, watching Aaravos blink down at him from where he’s reclined on the bed right beside him. His hand pauses in its ministrations as Aaravos' brow narrows, clearly trying to reason through Viren's words. “We were loud," he explains.

“Oh.” Aaravos’ fingers continue their slow caress, nails scratching gently across his scalp, his expression calm, unbothered. “No sounds left this room, I made sure of that.” 

“Good,” Viren sighs, relaxing, until Aaravos’ next words make him stiffen again.

“So, you were _mopey_ without me?”

Viren groans. He knew that would come back to bite him. “I am going to sleep,” he says forbiddingly, ignoring the undeniable presence of Aaravos' rising amusement. 

“Not before I see what—” Aaravos breaks off, snickering quietly as he dodges the hand blindly aimed at his face, attempting to palm it so that he stops talking. “See what this mopey expression looks—” he moves quickly again, trapping Viren’s arm to his side as he lowers himself to lay beside him, raising a playful eyebrow when Viren’s eyes finally crack open. “You are no fun.”

“Good _night,_ Aaravos,” Viren says, unsurprised when Aaravos simply hums, bringing him into a kiss. And then another, slower, longer. When Aaravos speaks again, holding him close, lips pressed to his hair, Viren is, indeed, half asleep on his shoulder.

“I hated being away from you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ tdpo give me mage husbands or give me death


End file.
